


Christmas Spirit

by smuttyscribbles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Married Zayn Malik/You, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyscribbles/pseuds/smuttyscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bar itself hasn’t really worked a Christmas theme into their décor, a few strings of fairy lights draped over the wall of overly priced liqueur bottles and a mini Christmas tree on the corner of the bar does not a Christmas party make. Luckily though, Niall was ever the festive enabler, bringing bags of tinsel and Santa hats; you’ll be forever thankful to the Irishman for allowing you the opportunity to have a picture of Zayn with his lengthy hair pushed back by a reindeer antler headband sitting on his head as the new home screen on your phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Spirit

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Jingle bell around the clock. A briiight time, a riiight time, to rock the night awaaaaay!”

You giggle lightly, leaning back against the bar as you watch Niall and Louis murder the song, throwing their hips around as they try and imitate the long forgotten Mean Girls routine. They give up shortly, flinging their arms around each other’s shoulders instead and swaying rhythmlessly until their already ruddy cheeks are shiny with sweat. The red wine in your bowl sized glass ripples as your body shakes with more laughter, the rambunctious singing drawing the attention of the few patrons that aren’t a part of your Christmas party. 

“Pretty sure that’s not how it goes.” You smirk, taking a long sip of Merlot, leaning your shoulder into Zayn’s chest as your husband stands beside you, always one for hovering close when he’s had a few drinks.

“Who cares?” Louis yells, raising his glass in the air and laughing loudly when his beer sloshes violently over the rim, painting Niall’s shirt and turning the light blue dark.

“Ahh!” The blonde yells, looking down at the mess. He has to toss the length of red tinsel around his neck off of his shoulders to see the worst of it, “Wha’ a waste!” he coos, pouting at his chest.

Zayn snorts, dropping his head down to rest his forehead against your temple, the closeness making the rich scent of his cologne wash over you. “Idiots.” He murmurs fondly, his arm sneaking across your waist, hand curling around your hip.

The annual band and friends Christmas do never failed to end up with Niall as pissed as a newt, singing at the top of his lungs, providing out of tune warbling for Louis and Liam to drunkenly dance to; breakdancing in their Christmas jumpers like every sane thirty-something year old man would do. Harry, of course, takes up residence on one of the barstools, crowding the other wives and friends around the high table as he tells stories that you’re sure even he doesn’t understand, pausing to run a hand through his long curls way more than necessary.

Barry White, Mariah and The Pogues fill the bar with their tinkling holiday songs, making you feel like you’ve stepped into a scene in Love Actually. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised to see Hugh Grant saunter his way into this prestigious Mayfair bar, topping off the celebrity count for the evening. The bar itself hasn’t really worked a Christmas theme into their décor, a few strings of fairy lights draped over the wall of overly priced liqueur bottles and a mini Christmas tree on the corner of the bar does not a Christmas party make. Luckily though, Niall was ever the festive enabler, bringing bags of tinsel and Santa hats; you’ll be forever thankful to the Irishman for allowing you the opportunity to have a picture of Zayn with his lengthy hair pushed back by a reindeer antler headband sitting on his head as the new home screen on your phone.

"I need another pint." Niall slurs, swaying in his spot as he pats Louis’ shoulder hard enough to make the older guy wince. He wobbles towards the scared looking barmaid, pointing at her as he wears his charming, slightly lopsided, grin. "Pint please."

Zayn’s hand tightens on your hip, his lips brushing your ear as he says, “I need to get you home.” 

The tell tale huskiness of his voice makes you turn your head towards him, your lips quirking upwards as he leans back to look you in the eyes. His grin is dangerous, one that has lured many millions of girls into a one-sided eighteen year long love story. The fourteen years of your mutual romance still hasn’t made you immune to it whatsoever.

"You do, huh?"

Straight white teeth press into his bottom lip as he nods, eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline as he waits for your answer. You can practically see the ideas flashing through his mind for what to do when the two of you get home. He may have been known as the mysterious one, but to you, your husband was an open book.

"Let’s go then." You look at your watch, pleased to see that it’s only just passed midnight. "We can get a taxi."

That eye crinkling, beaming smile is something you’d kill to see again and again, and you can’t help but smile back as you place your half full wine glass down on the bar. Zayn nips off to grab your coats, pulling his black woollen trench on over the red shirt you’d picked out for him to wear before he hands you yours, wrapping your tartan scarf around your neck himself and leaning in to peck your nose once he’s done. 

"Oi, where ya going?" Liam asks as he appears beside you, eyes a little glassy but otherwise he seems fine. "S’barely twelve."

"Gotta take advantage of the kids being at the in-laws, haven’t I." Zayn smirks, ignoring your light slap to his chest as he wags his eyebrows, just in case he point wasn’t clear. "Don’t wanna waste a minute of our free weekend."

Liam scoffs, pursing his lips and nodding his head as though he knows exactly what Zayn is talking about, “I feel ya.” he chuckles, “Tried to convince Soph to do the same but she got a babysitter instead. Lucky thing we’ve learnt how to be deadly quiet.” he deadpans, not looking overly enthused.

"Sounds fun." Your husband lies, his face showing his amusement, "Text ya tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah." Liam taps Zayn’s arm before leaning in to kiss your cheek. "See you later."

A mess of cheek kisses and sloppy, cheery goodbyes follow and it’s another ten minutes before the two of you are stumbling out of the bar, the freezing night air slapping you in the face. Snow drifts down from the darkness, trying to blanket the ground but the light sprinkling of white is interrupted by footprints and tyre treads. Zayn reaches for your hand, interlocking your gloved fingers as you walk down the street, golden Christmas lights twinkling from lamp posts above your head. 

"I can’t wait to get home." He sighs happily, hailing a black cab with a lift of his hand.

"I can tell." you chuckle, shivering as your nose goes numb. Zayn lets your hand go so that he can rub his own up and down your arms, trying his best to warm you up the as taxi drives towards you both.

Snowflakes glitter in his hair and thick lashes and you have to pause for a second just to admire him. Zayn is beautiful, that’s no secret, but sometimes you think that now, at thirty-five, he’s otherworldly. He’s aged well, letting his hair grow out and embracing the slight crows feet that years of happiness have given him.

"When was the last time we had the weekend alone?" He asks, frowning as he thinks, "We really need to do it more often, I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow by the way." 

Your smile widens until it hurts and you’re thankful the kids aren’t back until Sunday too. As much as you love your three tearaways, Zayn was right, you hadn’t had enough time alone in the recent months, his producing and writing jobs flying him out of the country most weeks. 

“Where are you taking me?” You ask as the taxi pulls up at the kerb.

Zayn pulls the door open for you, motioning you in, “It’s a surprise.” He grins as he slides in next to you, shutting the door on the cold air. You hear the quiet stuttering of the taxi driver when he realises who he’s just picked up and you can’t help but chuckle quietly.

It takes almost twenty minutes to get home, all the while the driver quizzes Zayn politely, your husband not minding in the slightest as he listens and answers, pulling you into his body so he can run his fingertips up and down your thigh, the touch tickling your skin through your stockings. Zayn signs a few autographs for the man as you walk up towards the front door, your heels wobbling a little as the pain of prolonged wear sparks up in your soles. You’ve got your keys in the door, pushing it open when Zayn finally catches up.

“Alone at last.” He chuckles, setting a hand on your lower back to guide you into the open lobby of your home. He closes the door behind you, locking it up as you peel your coat, scarf and gloves off, still shivering from the chill of the empty home.

“Should have put the heat on before we went out.” You say as you hang your coat up on the hook, Zayn doing the same. “I’ll go get some wine.”

“And I’ll light the fire.”

You pause on your way to the kitchen, turning back towards him with raised eyebrows, “Since when do you know how the light the fire?” you scoff, “I don’t think we’ve ever used that thing.” Though you can’t deny that the thought was nice, curling up with Zayn beside the heat was one thing you’d like to do.

Lifting a shoulder, Zayn smirks, toeing his loafers off a leaving them by the door, “I made Khalil look up the instructions, he showed me what needed to be done” he flicks open the top button of his shirt and then the one beneath it, revealing the dip of his collarbone and the lips on his chest.

“You had your eight year old son teach you to light an open fire?” You shake your head in amusement, “You better hope he doesn’t get cold one day and decide to do it for himself, you’ll be in a lot of trouble if he does.” You remark lightly as you head towards the kitchen again.

“He won’t.” Zayn calls after you, “Our boy is the good one, why do you think I didn’t ask Zarah.”

You laugh to yourself as you enter the huge kitchen and dining room, your favourite room in the house other than your ensuite bathroom, walking around the large centre island and towards the cupboard that holds the wine glasses.

“Hopefully because she’s only six.” You mutter, glad that he hadn’t tried to corral the baby into helping out too. Malik family accidental arson training wasn’t something you needed going under your roof.

There’s an overly expensive bottle of red in the rack that you’re tempted to use, gifted to you, though you can’t quite remember who by. You decide against it in the end, grabbing the Merlot you picked up on offer during the weekly food shop, knowing that it’s unlikely that what you pour in the glasses will actually get drunk anyway, not if Zayn works as quickly as he usually does. The liquid glugs loudly, filling the glasses just under half way. You screw the lid back on, saving what’s left for another time.

Your heels click loudly against the hardwood floors, reminding you of the way Zarah always likes to clog around in your Louboutins, arms out at her sides to keep balance in the ridiculously oversized shoes while Malia waddles around behind her; your three year old has, thankfully, yet to gain the courage to attempt to copy her sister.

Surprisingly, the fire is crackling away in the hearth when you step into the lounge, casting an orange glow into the room, and Zayn is sitting on the couch, arms stretched along the back, still in one gorgeous piece. The iPod dock on the windowsill is casting out Michael Buble’s Christmas album, turning the night into possibly the most festive one you’ve had yet.

“I’m impressed.” You smile, handing him his glass as you step out of your platforms. The heat of the flames licks at your legs and arms, offering you a lovely warmth. The only other light in the room is coming from the Christmas tree, Zayn’s turned on the lights while you were in the kitchen, letting the white blubs twinkle like stars, reflecting off of the gold tinsel. “Though I’m not sure you should get all the credit.” You tease as you sit down beside him, curling your legs beneath you.

Zayn wraps his arm around your shoulder, fingers playing with a strand of your hair. “I did it all by myself baby, I should get all the credit and a kiss as a reward.” He leans in, nudging his mouth against yours, the heavy scruff on his cheeks tickling your skin enough to make you giggle before you press your lips firmly against his, lingering but keeping it a chaste. 

You take a sip of your wine when you pull back, your eyes skimming down over his chest, noticing he’s undone a few more buttons of his shirt. “Why don’t you just take it off?” You ask, reaching out to pluck at the material.

“Trying to get me naked, huh?” he grins, his voice low as he pops open the rest of the buttons, setting his glass down on the side table so he can pull it off, throwing it over the arm of the couch.

“Of course.” You chuckle, loving the way the fire casts a flickering orange light across Zayn’s lean chest, licking at the extensive ink on his body. You stroke your fingers over the pinup style tattoo of you on his bicep, you’d fought with him on getting it, having only been together less than a year at a time. He’d been adamant though, telling you that he knew you’d be together forever so he had no doubt that a tattoo was a good idea. You’d loved it straight away of course, it was well done and you looked fricking hot, and knowing he carried you on him permanently, no matter how far away he was, helped with the years of touring he’d done at the time.

He draws your legs around, laying them over his thighs so that he can slide his palm up yours. His fingers nudge beneath the hem of your formfitting black dress, flicking over the clip of your garter belt. You hear the way he sucks in a breath through his teeth, even though he’d demanded to watch your roll your stockings up your legs and had even clipped them to your belt himself. He loved full lingerie and you’re one hundred percent sure he’s spent most of the evening thinking about the purple Agent Provocateur set you’ve got on under your dress. The one he’d bought home last week, because that’s what Zayn does, leaves a box on the end of your bed that usually contains lingerie or red soled shoes, every now and then it’s of the sexual toy variety that makes you glad your kids know not to open the shiny black boxes that appear on mummy and daddy’s bed.

“Did I tell you how much I love you today?” He asks, taking your wine glass from your hand and setting it on the table beside his.

You nod your head, nibbling the corner of your bottom lip as you rest your hand on the one he has set on your knee, “You have, a few times, I never get tired of hearing it though.”

“I really, really love you.”

You kiss him again, a little firmer this time, smiling into his mouth because no matter how many times you hear it, your heart flutters excitedly when he tell you he loves you. “I really, really love you too.” You mutter against his lips.

His hands inch your dress up a little, “Come sit in my lap, baby.” He smiles, tugging gently on your arm as you rearrange yourself to straddle his thighs. “Mmm, just where you belong.” He adds, his eyes roaming down your body, the hands resting on your thighs push your dress up even more, so the straps of your suspenders are visible and your panties are barely covered.

“You’re right about that.” You chuckle, running your fingers through his hair, the long ebony locks are as soft as silk between your fingertips. “I always belong with you.”

His cheeks push up, his eyes closing briefly with his grin before one of his hands cups the back of your head and draws you in for another kiss. His lips part against yours quickly this time, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip, teasing you into opening for him so you can get a better taste. His other hand runs firmly up your slide, over your waist and ribs, skipping your breasts to stroke his fingertips along the exposed skin of your collarbone.

You sigh softly into his mouth, pressing your hands against his chest as he slips the strap of your dress off of your shoulder, moving his lips across your jaw and down your throat. His teeth pinching your skin as he suckles hard enough to definitely leave a bruise, the tingle of the blood rushing to the surface making you gasp and wriggle as you try to duck away.

“Z-zayn…” you mumble as his tongue strokes a slow line over your collarbone, his lips dropping soft kisses over your shoulder.

“You’re overdressed, my love.” He murmurs, the rasp in his voice getting stronger every time you writhe in his lap, pushing down against the hardness trapped beneath his tight jeans. His hands move behind you, sliding down the zipper of your dress, taking his time like he usually does when it gets to this point. He runs the pads of his fingers down your exposed back, so softly that it tickles your skin, making your spine curve enough to push your chest into his face. “God.” His tongue presses against the line of your cleavage, swooping up towards dip at the base of your throat. 

The warmth of the room is becoming too much, his touch and his tongue not helping you cool down in any way. Your fingers find the back of his neck and you drop your head down to kiss him again, your lips crashing desperately this time, the slow pace taking a step back as your need makes itself known. Teeth clash a little and the wet smacking sounds your mouths make almost cover the involuntary moans that escape your throat. Your dress is bunched up around your waist before it’s pulling up over your head, your mouths parting for the few seconds it takes for him to throw the material over the back of the sofa and let his eyes take in the sight of you.

He groans quietly, large hands settling on the nip of your waist as he takes in the shape of your body, the lingerie, the way your skin looks in the light of the fire and the sparkle of the fairy lights. There’s a slight chill still coming through the windows, the snow falling outside adding a light to the darkness, but the flames crackling away behind you stop the goosebumps rising on your skin.

“So fucking sexy.” He licks his lips, sliding his hands up your sides until they rest on your ribs, his thumbs pushing up over the swell of your lace covered tits, pressing into the soft flesh and pushing them together. He hasn’t lost his fascination with the way they feel and look in all these years.

His mouth dances over your shoulders again, down your sternum and over the flesh that is spilling out of your bra. When his lips fasten over your nipple, his tongue tickling it through the lace, you take a shuddering breath, releasing a soft sound from your throat that’s close to a whine. His arms wrap around your body, holding tight as he manages to push you both off of couch, walking the few steps to the fluffy cream rug in front of the fireplace where he sinks smoothly to the floor, laying you down like you’re in some kind of high class porno.

It’s a lot warmer here, with the flames so close, and thankfully that means Zayn’s in a hurry to get his jeans and socks off. The white Calvin Klein boxer briefs he’s wearing are strained to the max, the material stretched thin over the thick bulge of his hard cock and you can’t stop your eyes from lingering on the sight long enough to make him chuckle.

“Love it when you look at me like that.” he murmurs, kneeling between your legs, his hands on your thighs pulling you closer to him, making the fur of the rug tickle your back. “Still so hungry for me.” His eyes roam over your body, lingering on your hips and thighs, his tongue touching his bottom lip as he strokes them. “Like I am for you.”

“Always.” You smile up at him. There hasn’t been a moment in your relationship that you haven’t wanted him, not even during the rough patch you’d had before you’d found out you were pregnant with Khalil. There will never be a time in your life that you wouldn’t want Zayn, you are beyond sure of that.

He leans over you, his hips nestling between your thighs and his stomach pressing tightly against yours. His fingers tangle in your hair as he kisses you again, deep and passionate, his teeth pinching your bottom lip and tugging in the way you love. The soft touch of his lips journey down your neck and chest, the quick removal of your bra allowing his tongue and teeth to tease your hard nipples. The swirling, flicking licks and the hard, wet suckling makes you writhe, breathy gasps and moans leaving your mouth as you press up into his lean body. He works you over until your nipples are puffy and glistening with saliva and there are multiple tingling spots across your breasts from where he’s sucked and nibbled.

His kisses reach your ribs and stomach, scattering over your hipbones and following the line of your garter belt. Zayn’s eyes flutter closed, a groan rumbling from his throat as he runs his nose along the crease of your thigh, following the path with his tongue after.

“You smell so fucking good.” He grunts, this time trailing his nose over the wet crotch of your overly expensive panties, “Can tell you’re ready for me, I’ve barely started baby.”

“Zayn, come on.” You whine, your fingers grabbing at the rug as he teases you, stroking the pointed tip of his tongue over your covered slit.

“What do you want?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and you had expected it. Zayn always likes to get you to ask for it. To beg for it. “Want my mouth on your sweet pussy?” He tucks his fingers into the sides of your thong, pulling them away from your skin and easing them down a little. “I know how much you love it.”

“Yes, fuck Zayn, please.”

There’s that deep chuckle again, and your panties are being pulled down your legs and flung onto the couch. The garter belt and stockings stay, which isn’t a surprise at all. He lifts your right leg, pressing his lips to your ankle, your calf, your knee, your thigh. He repeats it on the other side, ignoring your impatient sounds and the way you try to tempt him by slipping a hand between your thighs, dipping your fingers between your wet folds.

“Ah-ah, don’t be doing my job now.” He lies between your legs, taking your hand away from your pussy and taking your shiny fingers into his mouth, sucking the juices from them. “Fuck, I love the way you taste.”

He presses his palms to the inside of your thighs, spreading them, stroking his thumbs over your outer lips before spreading you open for him. He groans thickly and you can practically hear him licking his lips, the wash of his breath warming you alongside the fire. Zayn always takes his time when eating you out, he could go for hours, until you beg and plead for him to stop, and most of the time you love it but right now slow is the last thing you want. Luckily for you, your husband seems to always know what you need.

“So wet.”

His mouth latches over your entire slit, his lips closing as he sucks on yours, the loud suction sound making you giggle quietly. His silent laugh sends a waft of hot air over you and then his tongue is stroking between your pussy lips, rubbing tightly against the sensitive skin hidden between them. Your hips jerk involuntarily, the sensation of his warm tongue, so soft and yet so firm, against your clit, your entrance and the spot just beneath it, was always so good. It didn’t matter if he was kitten-licking you or wagging his tongue so quickly you could barely think straight, it had always felt good with him.

Zayn’s hands curl beneath your knees and he pushes them up and out, offering you up to him completely while allowing him to look up at you still, his dark eyes locked on your own as he nuzzles his nose into the trimmed patch of hair between your thighs, his tongue rubbing tightly between your folds.

“Zayn, please.” You try to grind down but the position he’s got you in, with your hips practically lifted from the ground, doesn’t allow you much movement. “Baby, come on.”

He chuckles, his eyes closing and crinkling at the sides with the smile that’s hidden from you by your own body. His tongue snakes downwards, flattening and pressing against you fully before he starts taking long, slow licks, gathering up all the arousal you’ve leaked so far before he sucks your clit into his mouth, his lips tight around it as his tongue tortures the bundle of nerves with wicked flicks against the spot to the right that’s always so sensitive.

You spine curves sharply, your hands pulling at the rug as you throw your head back with a loud gasp, biting your lip to keep the other wild moans and squeaks from slipping out. Zayn slaps at your thigh, the sound loud above the quiet Christmas jingles coming from the dock, and you jump in surprise, your body throbbing in a quick response.

“Don’t keep yourself quiet.” He says, “It’s just us remember, I want to hear you.” He wiggles his tongue between your inner lips, pushing it against the centre of you that gives just enough to let the tip of him inside.

The tickle of it inside of you makes you whine, the muscles of your thighs twitching as your body offers up more of your juices straight onto his tongue. He groans in reply, lapping you up before he gets even more confident, licking down over your taint and brushing the smaller hole just beneath it. You squeak a little, not having expected that, even though it’s nothing new to either of you. He gets you even wetter, knowing how sloppy you like it, even as thoughts of having to replace the fur rug briefly flit through your mind. He laps, flicks and pushes until you’re nothing but a squirming mess.

“Z-zayn I n-need it, please baby, let me come.” You beg, your body trembling as your orgasm wrestles to take over, needing a better push before it’ll have the chance. “So close.”

“I’ve got you, baby.” He murmurs, his attention back on your clit, nursing the throbbing bud with constant firm rubs, small enough that he can keep it up until you’re shuddering and moaning up at the ceiling, your eyes clenched shut as you come.

“Ah, fuck, fuck Zayn.” You reach down to grab a handful of his hair, holding him to you as he takes you through your orgasm, not stopping the movement of his tongue as you pulse, giving up more of that deliciousness that he has to restrain himself from taking again, needing you wet for his cock.

He stays with his face buried in your pussy until your fingertips are trying to push him away, pressing weakly against his forehead. When he pulls back, his lips are slick and shiny, he rubs them together and sucks the bottom one into his mouth as he gently sets your legs back down on the rug. Your eyes drop to the damp spot on his boxers that’s turning the material even more see-through; his cock is passed that now, the head sticking out of the waistband, flushed a rich purple and glistening with pre-cum.

“God, I love doing that.” Zayn hums, crawling over you, his mouth sucking on your crook of your neck, dropping a kiss beneath your ear before he hovers above your lips, “How do you want it, baby?” he asks, dipping his head to peck your lips again, “Like this?” he thrusts his covered cock against you to emphasise what he means, “On your side?”

“Belly.” You moan, reaching down to push his boxers down as much as you can, which is barely mid-thigh but it releases his cock, letting it bounce between his legs, jutting out, fat and solid, from his hips. Zayn hisses at the release, kneeling up to shove his boxers off completely, giving his heavy balls a tug and moaning quietly as he does.

The room is hot now, both of your bodies shining with a thin sheen of sweat, the hair close to your scalps getting a little damp. Zayn’s body shimmers, the flex and pull if his abdominal muscles as he moves almost mesmerises you, and you can’t help but lick your lips as you think about dragging your tongue up the plane of his flat stomach.

His hands span against your hips and he exerts a small amount of pressure that guides you over, “Turn over, sweetie.” He says, the spark in his eyes and quirk of his mouth showing you his excitement, and you know he knew you’d pick this position.

You turn over, lying flat on your stomach and resting your cheek on your folded arms, the pelt of the rug tickling your nipples. The swat of Zayn’s palm against your ass cheek makes you squeak, giggling in surprise and then moaning when he does it again on the other one. His hands cover both cheeks, the heel of his palms spreading them.

“Fuck, you look so fucking good, always look so good.” He grunts, letting your ass go so he can spread your legs out just a little bit. He moves over you, straddling your thighs, the tip of his cock dragging heavily against your skin and leaving a wet trail behind. “I can never get this out of my head. Fourteen fucking years and all I can think about is fucking you, making love to you, every fucking day.” He’s bent double, his tongue trailing up your spine. He pulls your hair over one shoulder, tucking his face into your neck as his body covers you, his hard cock resting, hot as a brand, between your ass cheeks. “How the fuck did I get this lucky? The music, the kids, you?”

You can’t help the smile that lights up your face, your cheeks hurting from the force of it. “We’re the lucky ones, having you.” You say honestly.

He doesn’t say anything but you feel him shaking his head before he props himself up on one arm, reaching with the other to grasp his cock, pushing it down between your cheeks and rubbing the head along your slit. The bare touch is so welcome and you think back briefly of the look Zayn gave you when he saw you were down to your last week of birth control pills before you needed to get a refill. Your eyebrows had raised almost to your hairline, your fingers pausing in their effort to pop that day’s pill out of the foil. There weren’t any words said, there hadn’t needed to be, you’d tucked the pills back into their box and held it out over the bin in your ensuite. Dropping them in at Zayn’s tender smile and nod of his head. That had been two weeks ago.

“Ready baby?” he asks, his voice soft, the tip of his cock nudging desperately at your entrance.

You wriggle your hips a little, a light moan making its way out of your mouth, “Yes, so ready.” You answer, pinching the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth as the anticipation sets in. You’re excited for that stretch you get when he hasn’t used his fingers first. 

Your lips part in a silent gasp, your eyes drifting shut, as he pushes into you. The initial breach of the head is slow but once he’s inside, he sinks in the rest of the way smoothly until the curve of your ass cushions his pelvis, not allowing him to go any further. He dips his hips down and pushes forward just a bit more, your body grasping him as he leans forward, setting his weight on your back the way you like it. The feel of him pinning you down with his body, his cock making you ache deliciously, was heaven to you. He rests his forearms beside your head, his hands gently coaxing yours out from under you so that he can thread his fingers between yours; the light of the fire glinting off of the matching platinum bands on your left hands, the ones that rest beside each other now as his hold tightens.

“God…fuck, baby, you feel amazing.” He groans, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “Always so wet for me.”

He rocks his hips, his feet pushing your legs together so that he can plant his knees either side of them as his body slides against yours, the way eased with the slight amount of sweat on your skin. The sounds from both your mouths get louder as he picks up the best speed he can, his body curving upwards as he puts as much power into his thrusts as the position would allow. His teeth latch onto your shoulder, the hot breaths and vibrations of his groans and grunts hitting your skin.

“Zayn!” the pressure is building again, quicker than you’d expected, but you’re still sensitive from your orgasm and this is your favourite position for a reason, since it allows Zayn’s cock to rub firmly against every good spot.

“Feel good?” there’s the smug tone in his voice that he only ever gets during sex, when the pride he never shows in public sneaks out. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “You like this baby? I’m the only one whose ever made you feel this good, aren’t I.”

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You answer even though you know it’s barely a question. He’s well aware that he’s the phenomenal part of your limited sexual history. The slap of his hips against your ass gets louder in that moment, his right hand untangling from yours to slip beneath you, holding you tightly to his chest as he kisses your throat.

He makes breathy little pants in your ear that are littered with deep moans of pleasure; the sound of it makes you shiver with arousal, and unable to help it, you start pushing back to meet his thrusts, your pussy fluttering excitedly. You purposely squeeze down around him and his hips stutter to a stop, a burst of noise rushing passed his lips.

“Ah! Oh fuck, do that again, baby.” He urges, only giving shallow thrusts. He pulls away from your back, sitting up on your thighs and spreading your ass cheeks as he pulls almost all the way out, the rim of the head of his cock rubbing against the nerve riddled skin of your entrance. “Wanna feel it.” He slides half of him into you just as you clench down, tightening your pussy for a few moments, enough to feel him shudder wildly.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” He groans, shuffling his knees forward and keeping you spread open as he sinks all the way in, his balls pressed firmly against the backs of your thighs. “Knees up baby.”

He pulls out, leaving you feeling utterly empty as he rearranges your positions so that you can bring your knees up, pushing your ass into the air as he kneels behind you. His hand strikes you again, the jiggle of your backside making him hum appreciatively as he plasters his thighs against the back of yours, slapping and rubbing his cock against your pussy, the wet sound of it something you both love.

“Need to get deep, babe, fill you up the way you need.”

He slams deep with no warning, forcing a cry from your lips, your body instinctively moving away. His hands lock onto your hips, dragging you back until you’re squirming on every inch of him. He grinds against you as you gasp for air, swearing under your breath as you throb, every pleasure nerve in your body seemingly alight with life.

“That’s it.” Zayn growls, wriggling his hips as he stays balls deep, “Right where I belong, huh, as deep in you as I can get.”

Your thighs clench and relax as you nod your head frantically, “Yeah, oh god Zayn, you feel so good.” Your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip as he withdraws his hips quickly and then pulls your body back into him. His fingertips are going to leave bruises on your hip, tender spots that you’ll subtly press against counters and with your own hands for days, just to feel the ache they’ll cause.

He moves your body easily, rocking your hips forward and then bringing them back again, sometimes its soft and other times he yanks you back enough that the slap of his balls against your clit stings. It’s not long before you feel the familiar stirring between your thighs, the build up of pressure that tingles and undulates, teasing you with the notion of another orgasm. The volume of Zayn’s moans, and the frequency of the breath he sucks in sharply between his teeth, increases and you’re sure this is it until he pulls out with a gasp of air, sitting back on his heels behind you.

“Zayn…” you whine, wiggling your ass to try and temp him back into you, you lift your face from the floor, looking over your shoulder to see him watching you, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. His cock is twitching, obscenely shiny with your juices as it dribbles, looking beyond ready to burst. His hair is hanging in front of his face and he shoves it back with his hand, his pink tongue slipping against his bottom lip as he does, and in the moment the fact that you ended up with someone so beautiful hits you like a ton of bricks. “Baby, I need you.” You mumble, your face hot and since the fire is dying down from being unattended, you guess that it isn’t the sole cause.

“I know.” Zayn crawls towards you, moving to your side and gently easing you onto your back for a moment. “I need you.” He kisses you deeply, his tongue teasing your mouth open. “Want to kiss you while we come.”

He guide you onto your side facing the dwindling flames, and slides up behind you. This way you can turn your head to the side and he can lean over you to keep the kisses going. You hold one leg up into the air as he rubs the tip of his cock against your clit, making your foot jerk in a way that causes you both to giggle lightly, and then he’s pushing into you again with a groan.

“This is good, gonna come just like this. Fill you up.” He murmurs in your ear, his voice tight in a way that means he’s holding back his orgasm, wanting to last for you.

You rest your leg back over his hip but he keeps his fingers digging into your thigh as he pounds forward, dragging his cock over your g-spot with each quick thrust. “Please…Zayn, please.” Your body is being jolted by his, your breasts jiggling with the force, but he manages to keep his mouth close enough to latch onto yours every now and then, kissing you wetly, biting at your bottom lip when he gets the chance.

“You want it baby?” he asks against your mouth, “Want my come?”

You tremble against him, your lip quivering as the pleasure flares all over, it’s almost enough to bring the tears that usually came during your heavier sessions. “Y-yeah, please Z-zayn, please come.”

“You first.” The hand on your thigh slips further up, two fingers finding your pulsing clit and stroking in firm circles.

Your hand shoots back to grab at his hip, a loud cry teeming from your mouth as you explode around him. He lets out a shout of his own, his hips juddering as the grip your pussy has on him milks him of his orgasm. He thrusts shallowly as he floods you with his come, the waves of pleasure washing over you heightened by knowing he’s feeling the same. You can feel yourself overflowing, his come leaking onto your thigh when he pulls back just a little, and the way your hand tightens on his hip must speak your thoughts because he pushes all the way back in and stills, keeping you full.

“Fuck Y/N.” He sighs, kissing you softly, “We’ve still got it.” He smirks, pecking you again as he sets your leg down.

You chuckle, the aches already setting in as all your clenched muscles unwind. “Of course we do, when did we ever not have it?”

“True.” He kisses your neck and your shoulder, his fingertips stroking shapes on your hip. “I love you so much.” He grins, gently sliding out of you and turning you on your back, reaching up to slide a strand on your hair out of your face. When he dips his head just a little, the tips of his own locks tickle your cheeks.

“And I love you.”

You kiss until the room gets too cold again, goosebumps flitting over your arms and legs. You both look up at the same time to see that the fire is out, the chill reminding you that you should have put the heating on when you got in. The iPod is no longer playing either and all you have is the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree to help you see, which, down to your kids adamant desire for a huge 7ft beauty, was enough. Zayn stands up, holding a hand out to you and pulling you to your feet when you take it.

“We could take the wine to bed but I thought that I’d make us some hot chocolate. Whipped cream and marshmallows just the way you like it.” He beams, expecting the way you nod in reply

“Yes please, that sounds amazing.”

Curling up together in your huge bed, watching a Christmas film in the early hours of the morning while drinking the amazing hot chocolate Zayn makes is exactly what you want. In fact you could think of nothing better right now. He was completely right when he says you need to so this more often, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have the place to yourselves, not having to worry about tidying up your clothes or walking around naked without your son making exaggerated gagging sounds.

“You go up, I won’t be too long.” He tilts your chin up to kiss you again, “I’ll turn the tree off and put the heating on, that way we can sleep in without freezing our asses off. I’m already dreaming of lazy morning sex.” He chuckles.

You groan in appreciation, “God you’re so good to me.” Another quick kiss and you’re heading out of the room, sensing he’s watching you leave. A glance over your shoulder shows you that you’re right, his eyes are on your ass, his hand rubbing at the scruff on his face. “Hurry baby, don’t want you getting cold down here.” You smirk, leaving the room and bouncing up their stairs, a fresh wave of excitement stirring in your belly.


End file.
